


a dog is a home with fur.

by jamespadfoot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, CS AU, Cute Dogs, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamespadfoot/pseuds/jamespadfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She gets a dog because it’s one of the few childhood comforts she’s wanted to recreate as an adult.<br/>__</p><p>Inspired by this prompt: "hey new neighbour it appears that your dog likes me a thousand times better than she likes your partner and they’re really jealous and i’m sorry but not really because helloooo there"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day Zero

She gets a dog because it’s one of the few childhood comforts she’s wanted to recreate as an adult. The husband and wife duo (Mr. and Mrs. Krysinski) had been an elderly couple who took in foster kids partly because they needed the money and helping hands, but also partly because they had never had children. And she’d been relatively happy in their home (alongside a boy named Ken and a girl named Shaniqua) and their labrador, Dash. 

Then Mr. Krysinski died rather unexpectedly, and Mrs. Krysinski simply couldn’t - and so back to the system they’d gone. The old lady kept only Dash, and Emma had missed the dog more than she ever missed anything. 

A dog is the (real) reason she puts down her roots in Maine, paying the modest downpayment for the even more modest landed property (the house is really small, two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen, but it’s  _home)._

She’s only been dating Walsh for 3 weeks when she brings him home for the first time, and Bailey, her usually sweet-natured Labrador-mutt, growls the moment he steps into the house. 

Walsh laughs it off, saying Bailey is being protective because she’s worried that he’s going to steal her attention (he’s not exactly wrong). She doesn’t think much of it, in all honesty, because she’s so busy the following month that Emma forgets how Walsh hardly ever comes over anymore or how when he does, he sits as far from her dog as possible. 

“Are we even dating anymore?” she asks herself out-loud one Sunday morning, when Walsh flakes on their brunch date for the  _third_  week, and then, to her surprise, realises she doesn’t care. 

_Huh._

“Just me and you, huh?” she asks her ever loving dog, who simply wags her tail and demands an ear scratch. “Yeah, yeah, you don’t like him anyway.”

A loud noise and truck pulling up outside her window has Bailey on the alert, and draws a groan from Emma’s mouth as the quiet of the morning is broken. She realises it’s going to be a  _really_  loud Sunday when she sees the truck is in fact a U-haul, and the house two doors away is no longer unoccupied. 

“Scare the neighbours off or make ourselves scarce?” she asks Bailey, who runs to the door, clearly eager to check the noise. 

“Let me guess, you want to be your adorable self and charm them so you can get treats and leftovers like you do to Mrs. Willow down the street.”

She’s not sure if Bailey truly understands everything she’s saying, but Emma believes her dog is incredibly intelligent (and manipulative, but also loving) because she’s looking at her with her wide brown eyes as if saying, ‘ _Come on! Let’s go say hello_!’

“Ugh, fine, but if you break anything you can… deliver their newspaper for a year or something,” she warns the dog, checking her appearance as she descends out into the summer air. 

They walk right up to the neighbour’s porch, Bailey obedient by her side, when a voice rings out from behind her. 

“Neighbourhood welcoming committee, love?”

She whirls around, surprised by the accent, and before she can even catalogue just how hot he is, Bailey does the unthinkable and darts forward, jumping on the man. 

“Bailey!” 

He stumbles, but doesn’t fall, steadying himself by petting her neck heavily. 

“She’s a friendly one, isn’t she?” 

“It was her idea to come say hello.”

If he thinks she’s crazy for taking advice from her dog he doesn’t say so, but she notices the quirk of his brow all the same. 

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, rushing to his side to calm down the excited dog, who seems to have taken an instant liking to her neighbour. 

“Killian Jones,” he says, brushing off her apology. 

She extends her hand, about to introduce herself, when suddenly - 

“Emma!” 

Bailey growls from beside Killian, hackles raised (Emma glances down at her in worry - that sound means business) as Walsh strides over to them with his brow creased. 

“Why the hell are you outside dressed like that?!”

“What?”

Bailey growls again, and this time, Emma is tempted to growl with her. Killian has also turned to regard Walsh, and his expression is none-too-pleased either. Good.

“You’re dressed… like a…. well. Nevermind, go inside. And who are you?” 

“Killian Jones, new neighbour,” the man with the Irish brogue repeats, and Walsh shakes his hands stiffly.

“And,” Killian says, as if he’s simply adding to the discussion, “the lady is more than appropriately dressed for a Sunday morning.”

Bailey growls at Walsh, and the man steps back as if he’s just noticed her. His expression sours further, and Emma is suddenly filled with glee. 

“I think that’s her way of saying she’s, well, we’re, breaking up with you.”

It’s mean, and completely unprofessional to do it in front of her new (hot) neighbour, but he’s been a bit of ass to her lately anyway. 

Killian lets out a guffaw, and then promptly smothers his expression, moving backwards to give them space - as if he's the one who's trespassing. 

“ _You_  want to break up with  _me?_ How dare you,” he sputters, and then turns so suddenly she’s surprised, to glare at Bailey, who is being given a back rub by Killian. 

“And that stupid mutt,” he hisses, getting redder by the second, and her amusement from finally being free of this nonsense of a relationship turns to defensive anger when he insults her dog, “is the last straw. Just like you, she’ll go off fucking a neighbour before her boyfriend.”

Killian stands so suddenly that Emma reels back, surprised by the vitriol Walsh is spewing - and also complete inaccuracy - he’s reliving his past relationship (a bad break up when his girlfriend had slept with her neighbour before him), and she suddenly feels bad. He doesn’t deserve this. 

“Get off my lawn,” Killian says quietly to Walsh, anger ticking his jaw, and Emma is suddenly so ashamed and embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry,” she says to Killian, dragging Bailey by the collar and one hand on Walsh, who shakes her off immediately. 

“Not you, lass, or your lovely Bailey, who knows a scumbag when she sees one, apparently,” and he smiles at Walsh, all teeth, that Emma makes a mental note to _never_ piss this guy off. 

“You and all you fucking  _peasants_ deserve to stay in this shithole. I’m done.”

And with that, Walsh storms off. 

Emma stands there, trying desperately to stem the sudden angry tears that want to make it down her face. On one hand, she’s relieved, it’s over, and it was never going to work out. On another, he insulted her, and she should punch him in the face. But then again, she’s the one who embarrassed him in public, in front of a man neither one of them knows. Then again, there’s also the fact that he’s been a bit of a snobbish bastard from the get go, way too hipster for her taste and too pretentious by half. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out, fingers still tight around Bailey’s collar, as she meets Killian’s blue gaze. 

“This uh… I really just meant to come over and say hi. Spur of the moment thing. Didn’t expect-”

“Lass,” he interrupts her, “if you don’t mind me saying, he was an arse. Complete wanker, looked too much like a monkey for any respectable dog to trust, and he didn’t treat you with respect. If your dog likes a stranger before your partner, that says something, doesn’t it?”

“About the stranger or the partner?”

“Perhaps both, Emma,” he says, using her given name for the first time. 

She stares at him for a beat, the emotion subsiding as he waits patiently, calling Bailey to him softly. She’s unsurprised when the dog shakes off her grip and bounds over to him, nuzzling her wet nose into his cheek as he laughs, and okay, neighbours should be off limits, but as she invites him over to for some morning sustenance, she thinks maybe just this once, her dog might know a little more than her. Who knows where it might go, right?


	2. 8 Months

It’s been 8 months since he moved in to the tiny little cottage next to the vivacious Emma Swan and her charming little Bailey. Who isn’t so little, if truth be told, but Killian knows better than to bring up a lady’s weight. 

And he’s actually happy, for the first time in a long time. It had been a tremendous risk, born out of desperation to escape when he’d upped his entire life and moved across the Atlantic, trying to distance himself from Liam’s death and Milah’s ill-timed betrayal. 

He’d given her roses - she left them out to die. He’d given her all his love - she given him ‘goodbye’ (and ‘ _I love you, but I have a husband and son - I was going to get a divorce but…I’m sorry Killian,_ ’ like they hadn’t spent a year together with plans to get married). 

And though he can now afford to buy a much bigger house, the unexpected career jump having worked out  _far_  better than he could have ever anticipated, he refuses to contemplate the idea. If it’s because he’s a little in love with his neighbour and moving away will almost guarantee a death to the blossoming something between them - well, that’s his business.

Which is why he stills in surprise when he catches a man, tall and lanky, exiting Swan’s front door with Bailey on a leash. The man is shutting the door, shoulders tensed and stance shifty, and Bailey looks slightly uncomfortable. 

For a second, Killian wonders if she’s dating anyone, and coiling jealousy swirls through him like a shot of whiskey. She’d have told him if she was dating, right?

When Killian steps forward from behind his car (he’s got a house party on Saturday and his bastard friends expect copious amounts of drink), Bailey whines, as the man tugs her gently, trying to get her to move. 

“Come on,” he can hear the man cajoling her, “no one ever has to know.” 

 _Bloody buggering hell, he’s trying to kidnap her!_  

“Oi! Oi!” 

Bailey jumps at his voice, takes one look at the both of them, and bolts. 

The man curses and runs after her, Killian hot on his heels. 

“Stop,” he yells, not sure if he means the dog or man.

It’s a good thing that a) Bailey is lazy, b) Killian works out, and c) the man is slight enough that Killian’s long legs compensates for the man’s agility. 

He jumps, tackling the guy to Mrs. Willow’s lawn, grass prickling his skin as Bailey darts to the old woman’s door, lapping at the small bowl of milk meant for cats. 

“What is wrong with you?!” the man yells, and Killian suddenly realises that he’s not quite a man at all. He’s a boy, a teenager about 17, with dark brown hair and wide brown eyes and on his chest is a little badge that says ‘Dog Walkers’ with a phone number beneath it. 

“I thought you were kidnapping her.” 

He jumps off the boy, dusting the grass off his trousers and extends a hand in apology. The boy glares at him, refusing the hand and standing on his own. 

“You were being shifty!” Killian says, when the boy continues to just glare at him. “You said and I quote,  _no one will ever know._  Emma would never forgive me if I did nothing while Bailey was kidnapped.”

“I was trying to bribe her with a treat if she didn’t dig her heels in today,” the boy huffs, stomping over to where Bailey is sitting on her haunches, as if she’s  _not_  the center of this entire mess. 

“And you’re right,” he says, grabbing her leash and tugging her down, “Emma would kill you if you allowed her baby to be kidnapped. Quite heroic; trying to impress her or something?” 

“And just who are you?” Killian asks, ignoring the boy’s insinuation. 

“Henry Mills, of Who Let The Dogs Out Walkers.”

“That’s quite the mouthful, lad,” Killian says. 

“ _Emma_  thought it was funny.” 

Narrowing his eyes at the boy, a little busy body if he’s ever seen one, Killian just shakes his head. 

“So can I walk her now or are you going to jump me again?” 

“Do you have other dogs to walk or is it just her?” he asks, with a sigh. 

“There’s Mr. Fredricksen’s Dug, and Dr.Hopper’s Pongo.” 

“Would you like some company, lad? It’s the least I can do.” 

Henry considers him shrewdly, and Killian takes that time to lock his car with the press of a key, making Bailey’s ear perk with interest at the noise. 

“Yeah okay,” the boy says, “she seems to like you better anyway.” 

“It’s funny,” Henry continues, “because Emma insisted she was fun-loving and super friendly, but she seems to be suspicious of everyone she meets.”

At that, Killian laughs. “If you know Emma, you’ll realise they’re both more alike than she cares to admit. Oh yes, Emma will swear up and down that Bailey’s a fluff ball, but that’s the truth only to her. Never argue to a mother about her child, lad.”

“Women,” Henry sighs, as though the entire weight of the world rests on his shoulders. 

Killian raises an eyebrow as he takes the leash from Henry, nudging the dog slowly as they move into a walk. 

“Lady troubles?”

“Just the one,” Henry admits, and out flows the story as they walk the dogs. 

It’s how Emma finds them when she comes home early - both men sitting on the grass on Killian’s small lawn with bottles of lemonade and a dozing Bailey between them. 

“What’s this, Jones?” 

“I’ve made a friend, Swan.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, turning to the boy. “Henry, don’t you have to be home?”

“Nah, told my mum I was having dinner out. Killian’s cooking.”

Emma’s eyebrows raise higher, kicking off her heels as she collapses next to Killian, leaning heavily over him to pet her dog - who merely blinks an eye open in acknowledgement, before dozing off again. 

“Got room for one more?”

“Always,” he says with a little sigh, breathing in her scent of warm lemon soap and sweat. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in conjunction with hitting a milestone on Tumblr (@fandomflail) and is a result of a prompt sent in by a follower.


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